


Stone Fruit

by spacestationtrustfund



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Dom/sub, Foreshadowing, Identity, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Objectification, Period Typical Attitudes, Queer Brooklyn, Stone partner, of the worst possible type, tiny angry socialist steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: "You're probably a robot anyway," Steve says.But Bucky doesn't take the bait. "Sure I am," he says, "but it's like how you shouldn't dunk the radio in the bathwater. It'll keep tellin' you stories, and baseball stats, but you gotta take care of things, get the dust off, make sure the dials are set right—"Steve isn't sure whether they're talking about Bucky or the radio. It doesn't really matter.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 34
Kudos: 244
Collections: spacestationtrustfund sampler





	Stone Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Start Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16581584) by [birdbrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdbrains/pseuds/birdbrains). 



> So I wrote [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816965), which made me think of [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16581584), so I... remixed both? True to form, this is mostly talking about weird sex things instead of the actual weird sex things themselves, and unfortunately a lot of it won't hit as hard if you haven't seen [the movie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_Times_%28film%29). This was also originally going to have a lot more about Steve's experiences dealing with chronic pain, but ironically, I got fed up with it due to my _own_ experiences with chronic pain, so it didn't happen.
> 
> To [birdbrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdbrains) specifically: I know a bit about the time period, and I loved your story; I hope you enjoy what is... well, my version of your version of someone else's version of Jacob Kurtzberg's characters, I suppose? Subsumption? Sorry this is kind of short.
> 
> As always, see end notes for additional content warnings.

"You awake?" says Bucky's voice.

"No," Steve says. It's muffled by the pillow; he's lying face down on the mattress, trying to muster up the energy to get up and throw together the last of the potatoes and beans for dinner. He's still in his work clothes, even though it's too hot to wear a jacket, but the thought of trying to take it off makes him feel queasy and sore all over. And turning on the little Primus stove would only make the entire room steam up even worse...

Bucky snorts. A newspaper lands on the back of Steve's head, and he smacks ineffectually at it. The pages crinkle loudly when he moves.

"Shove off," Steve says, but it's half-hearted.

"Can I come in?"

"'S a free country, last I checked."

Bucky laughs. He scoops up the newspaper and straightens it out. Steve can hear the floorboards creak under Bucky's old dress shoes as he moves closer. "Hey, you hear about the new Chaplin film at the Rivoli on Broadway?"

"Yeah," Steve says. A flyer had been hung up outside the WPA offices. He'd been envious of how expensive and professional it had looked.

"Well, get dressed, we're going."

Steve sits up, too alarmed to worry about the sharp painful tightness in his chest when he moves. "Buck, it's _Wednesday_. You gotta work tomorrow morning."

"So? I said we're going, we're going."

"I can't," Steve says.

"Why not? 'S it cause you're worried about paying for medicine for your Ma? Don't worry, I'll pay for your ticket. Loge seats are only a buck apiece."

Steve frowns. "I ain't got two dollars. You got two dollars?"

"I said I'd pay for your ticket, how'm I supposed to do that if I ain't got the money? Shtimm zich! C'mon, I know you wanna go, you love Chaplin," Bucky says. "And it's opening night. You can tell your Ma all about it tomorrow when you go to bring her the morning paper, how bout that?"

"I can pay for my own ticket," Steve says.

He sticks one hand in the pocket of his gabardine, fumbling around for the remainder of that day's wages. If he has to shove the money in Bucky's big mouth to get him to shut up about Steve not being able to pay for things on his own, he'll do it.

"Steve—"

"I don't want charity," Steve says stubbornly.

Bucky drags his hands through his hair in frustration, leaving it all stuck up everywhere. He's not wearing his hat, and the heat has wilted his curls. Normally Steve would laugh at the spectacle he makes, but right now he's too irritated to find it particularly funny. Bucky says, "Can't a decent fella spend some money on his best guy without being accused of _charity_ , Steve, hell."

"You see any decent fellas around here?"

"All right, wise guy," Bucky says. He grabs Steve by the collar, tugging him into a headlock, even when Steve splutters and tries to smack Bucky's hands away. Bucky shakes him a little, rough but not mean, and says, "Look, it was like pulling teeth to get you to let me stand in for you in the bread lines over in Greenwich so you wouldn't drop dead of pneumonia. It was like pulling teeth to get you to agree to taking the food in the first place, since you didn't want _handouts_ —"

There had been other reasons Steve hadn't wanted Bucky to wander around the Village talking a big game about being best pals with Steve Rogers, but Steve doesn't exactly want to bring any of that up right now.

He doesn't know if Bucky knows about where he goes in Greenwich. Steve's heart threatens to jump right out his chest every time Bucky casually mentions something that _could_ be a hint or could just be a coincidence. Bucky had been spending enough time hanging around the docks back when he was working at the auto parts factory before it shut down. It's not like Bucky wouldn't know about that sort of thing. But Steve's had too much on his mind lately to worry about Bucky not wanting to hang around with him if he found out.

"What's your point," Steve snaps, spooked and fed up.

Bucky releases him and steps back, like Steve is suddenly red-hot.

"My point is," Bucky says loudly. "It ain't a bad thing to need a little help, and it ain't a bad thing to let people get you a leg up. I got a little extra from working last weekend at Gruenwald's, so it'll be my treat."

Steve chews on his lip, pensive. "Now listen, I know you coulda got four yards of fabric for two dollars down at Woolworth's. And I know Rebecca still needs a new dress for Esther's bat m—"

"Yeah, and maybe _I_ don't hafta buy her one, huh?"

"Well, then you coulda spent it on those new shoes I know you need—"

Bucky throws up his hands in exasperation and exclaims, "Quit being so snooty! I never heard of someone so young being such an alter kocker about a good time."

"'A good time,' sure," Steve says.

"Yeah, that's right, it'd be a good time," Bucky says, wheedling. "Aw hey, you were planning to get me something for my birthday anyways, right?"

Steve flushes. "Yeah," he says, slowly.

His current plans amount to little more than throwing together a sketch of Bucky, and possibly Rebecca, in what little free time he has. He's not even allowed to use the good pencils for things other than work. No dirty comics, his boss had said sternly. Steve hadn't intended to draw anything blue, but ever since being warned, he can't stop thinking about it.

"Right, well, for my present I want you to go see a film," Bucky says. He looks disgustingly smug. "And whatta coincidence, since tonight's the night I'm going to see one too."

"Buck—"

"Steve," Bucky mimics, maddeningly. "Look, if you really don't wanna go, then I'll hafta ask Edith Cunningham, cause I already told Harry down at the box office that I was gonna buy the tickets so save two of 'em for me, and if I ain't gonna go with a friend then I'll oughta find a date, and you know Edith doesn't have a real artistic bone in her body, so there."

Steve gapes. "You—you don't gotta ask _Edith Cunningham_ , Buck, jeez. I'll go."

Bucky's face lights up. He yanks Steve over to ruffle up his hair, even when Steve hollers and socks him in the ribs.

"Cut it out, you lunk!"

"Shucks, I'm just glad I was able to convince you," Bucky says, cheerful. "It'll take your mind off things, that's for sure."

It's a bit insulting that Bucky thinks Steve needs someone to take his mind off things, but he doesn't really have the energy to argue the point. The heat makes his lungs feel shrivelled up, like an old apple core, or an empty stomach. He'll be 18 in a few months, and Bucky turns 20 next month. Steve knows he's been lucky that the WPA has been so accommodating, even if it's not a lot of money. It's still something steady, which is more than Bucky can say. Bucky has been frustratingly close-lipped about where he gets his funds. Steve knows he's been laid off from not only the auto plant when it shut down but also the convenience store where he'd worked as a floorwalker for almost a year.

Steve had always loved visiting him at work, even though Bucky had said he shouldn't. Bucky had looked so nice and trim in his suit, like a real dish. Of course Steve would have visited him at the auto plant if he could; forget Bucky looking nice when he was all dolled up, he'd been something else in his undershirt and work pants with dark oil stains on his face where he'd wiped off the sweat. 

He shouldn't complain. The economic downturn had claimed first Bucky's Pa's job at the mechanic's, then Bucky's Pa. For all of Bucky's hard work, not to mention Mrs. Barnes's, the family still hasn't regained their balance yet.

And Steve has a steady income. The newspaper he works for usually pays him around $0.30 per commission. It's not bad at all so long as he whacks out a dozen or so per week.

That still doesn't mean either of them have enough to splurge on opening night box seats on Broadway. It already costs more than Steve's got to stay in the little rear tenement. Besides, whether he wants to admit it or not, his Ma is hardly getting any better. The medicine isn't exactly a dime a dozen. And the heat hasn't been doing anything to help either: Steve's been trying to hide it from her when he visits, but there's only so long he can smother his coughing in a handkerchief before she notices.

"It won't take my mind off things when I'm working to make up for it," Steve says. Two dollars is seven commissions at the usual pay.

He has to bite down on his tongue so he doesn't argue further. Bucky doesn't need to hear his whining. It's Bucky's money.

Bucky scrunches up his face. "I'm just saying," he says. "It'd be easier, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Steve relents.

Bucky whoops and punches the air. Steve swats at him. "Lay off it, you'll have half the neighborhood wondering which lady you proposed to this time!"

"Is that it? I gotta get down on one knee?" Bucky makes like he's going to, and Steve grabs his collar, alarmed. "Aw, I'm only kidding. It'll be good for you to get out and have some fun anyhow, stead of being stuck cooped up in here all week."

Steve crosses his arms. " _Good_ for me?"

"Du farkirtst mir di yorn, Steve, I'm trying to do you a favor."

"You're making it pretty hard to go along with it," Steve says. "The more you talk, the less I want to do anything."

"Fine," Bucky says. "I'll be quiet."

Steve scoffs.

"I will! Here, look," Bucky says. "I won't talk until after the film, how's that?"

"You'll talk," Steve says.

"I won't!"

Steve shakes his head.

"You watch," says Bucky. "I won't make a peep. I'll give you the money, and you give it to Harry at the box office, and I won't say a word until we're outta the theatre. Cross my heart."

Steve doesn't really expect Bucky to stick to it, but to his surprise, Bucky doesn't say anything all the way there. He hands Steve the two dollars as promised, and Steve forks them over to Harry. Bucky trails after Steve into the building, and sits in the seat next to him, but he doesn't make a sound.

His face is different, too. Steve's only seen him look this calm and expressionless when he's asleep.

It's unnerving. Steve almost wants to slap him, or yell something, just to see how Bucky would react. But that would ruin the experiment.

Bucky buys sodas and Reese's and enough popcorn to feed a small army from the concessions girl. He doesn't say a word, just smiles at her and points to what he wants. He gives a Steve an apologetic look afterwards, as if to say you don't have to eat any of it. But he doesn't say anything out loud.

The music is loud enough that Bucky could probably talk without Steve noticing. Steve can't help sneaking glances at Bucky, but Bucky just looks straight ahead, watching the screen with a peaceable look on his face. He bumps his knee against Steve's companionably, and Steve tries and fails not to shiver.

Bucky strips off his jacket and drapes it over Steve, all without saying anything.

Steve is still wearing two jackets, and Bucky is in his shirt-sleeves, when they leave. Bucky throws his arm over Steve's double-jacketed shoulders, looking at ease.

"All right, you can talk," Steve says, discomfited, and Bucky beams at him.

"Told you! Didn't I? I told you, I could do it," he crows, pumping his fist like he's in the stands of a home game. The motion shakes Steve's entire body, and he slips out from Bucky's grasp so he doesn't topple over.

"I guess so," says Steve.

He's not sure what's making him so uncomfortable. Maybe it's because Bucky had shut up so thoroughly.

"You gonna be all right to walk back?" Bucky asks.

Steve nods. His chest feels tight and pinched, but that's normal enough. "I'm all right," he says. He'd let Bucky pay for the tickets, and hadn't thought to bring his own money, so now he can't pay for the trolley.

He'd feel bad about making Bucky walk, anyway.

"I thought the scene in the café was a real side-splitter," Bucky says, as they walk. "When he's forgetting all his lines cause he lost his cuffs? Boy, that'd be a nightmare, that's for sure."

"Yeah," Steve agrees.

"I'd rather put on that skirt and dance to the music," says Bucky.

Steve can feel his stomach trying to crawl up into his throat. "In front of all those men?" he manages.

Bucky shrugs. "Sure, why not," he says. "It'd be fun. Like when you dressed up as one of those ladies in the goyische Nativity play when you were a kid."

"One of those la— Bucky, that was 10 years ago," Steve says. Bucky had hated the production; he'd only been allowed to go because he and Steve had lied to Mrs. Barnes about the denomination. Bucky had spent the rest of the day complaining to Steve how stupid the whole show had been. Steve had been Mary, since he'd been the only boy small and skinny enough to pass as a girl.

"Well, I'm just saying," Bucky says. "I'd rather go out and shake my tuches in that outfit than forget my lines and have to make something up on the spot, that's all."

Steve worried at his lower lip with his teeth. "I thought it was real smart, that scene in the beginning. Where he was trying to go back to jail just so's to have a roof over his head and a hot meal," he says. "And then when he ended up in that demonstration with the Communist workers—"

"Course you did," Bucky says.

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

"It means what I said," says Bucky. "Don't snap your cap at me. Besides, he went and released all those police-men, didn't he?"

Steve glowers. But before he can get fired enough to snap off at Bucky about how awful the law officers had been, Bucky says, "I guess it _was_ pretty funny when they all got knocked out in the wagon."

“I thought it was pretty funny when those crooks had him all drunk when he was a floorwalker,” Steve says, mollified.

They list their favorite scenes back and forth for a while as they walk. Bucky likes the scene where the Little Tramp tries to high dive into half a foot of water; Steve likes the scene where the Gamine steals bananas from the incoming sailors. Bucky likes the roller-skates; Steve likes the way the workers are shown to be angry. “It makes sense,” he points out, while Bucky rolls his eyes. “They’ve got a reason to be sore! Everyone’s sore, because there’s no work!”

“Well, I hope things take a turn for the better,” Bucky says. “What with the Second New Deal, and the Social Security business, and all that shtick. So we don’t hafta end up stuck in a machine like in the film.”

“During lunch break,” Steve says.

“Boy, I’d love to do that sort of thing to _my_ boss when he’s being awful,” Bucky agrees. He grimaces. “I’d love to work in a factory like that though. All that machinery looked like a real time, I’ll tell you that.” He glances over at Steve, still draped in their jackets. “You thought it was swell, right?”

Despite everything, Steve feels abruptly fond. “Sure I did, you twit,” he says. “But you know it’s a real problem, all that industrialization, and the big machines—when technology’s booting out the workers from the factories, that’s how we ended up like this, with no jobs—”

“I think it’d be killer if they could switch out all the fellas with ro-bots,” says Bucky.

Steve groans. Bucky’s been obsessed with the idea of robotics ever since he dragged Steve along to the Garrick Theatre on Broadway to see a performance of a play by some foreign guy, over 10 years ago. _Any of us could be robots_ , he’d say, elbowing Steve while Steve is trying to hold still on the subway, _lookit that schlemiel over there, he’s probably a robot in a disguise, don’tcha think?_

“That wouldn’t be much of a story,” Steve says, doubtful.

“It’d be great,” Bucky says. “Maybe the problem’s just some faulty wiring, that’s why the Little Tramp can’t catch a break. He an’ Ellen run off to a mechanic’s, and get themselves fixed up, and then he doesn’t have a problem. Hey, you saw the part where he’s out in the street lookin’ like he’s jitterbugging around cause he can’t stop moving—”

“I don’t think Chaplin does robots,” Steve says.

“Well, he should.”

“Well, he doesn’t!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He veers off their path to wave to Mr. Ettinghausen at the butcher shop, who waves back with the hand not holding a meat cleaver. When Bucky returns, he slings an arm across Steve’s shoulders again. “I thought it was great when the Little Tramp got the big cheese stuck in the machines,” he says. “It served ’im right.”

“He was all screwed up,” Steve says. “They didn’t pay him enough.”

“I’d do that job,” Bucky says.

“You’d do _any_ job!”

“That’s on account of there’s no work,” says Bucky. “But I wouldn’t mind it anyhow. It’s a pattern, once you get into the rhythm—"

“Sure, long as you don’t end up twisting off some lady’s—equipment,” Steve says, blushing furiously.

Bucky leers. “That gal had the cat _and_ kittens,” he says admiringly.

“Oh, lay off, you creep,” Steve says, shoving him away.

He walks determinedly away from Bucky. Bucky just follows him doggedly and loudly whistles, despite Steve ignoring him. Steve stops to greet Mrs. Tzarfati in the downstairs tenement room, and Bucky drapes himself over Steve’s back, messing up Steve’s hair when Steve tries to elbow him in the stomach so he can go up the stairs.

“Shove off,” Steve says.

Bucky keeps standing there in the doorway while Steve gets out the key to the rooms he shares with his Ma. “You’re still gonna come to Esther’s bat mitzvah, right,” he says. “Next week.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Good, cause if I have to endure zeideh Shlomo knocking my tshaynik about stepping off the plank with _a nice Orthodox girl_ for shidduch one more time,” Bucky says. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t tell him you don’t go to shul this time then,” Steve says.

He gets the door unlocked and steps inside, but Bucky follows him. “What’d you think of the ending?” he asks, looking anywhere but Steve.

“Not much of an ending,” Steve says.

“That’s the point, right?”

“I guess,” says Steve. “It’d be nice to know what happened to ’em, maybe.”

He goes and sits on the bed to take off his shoes. Bucky comes over and turns on the lamp, then sits on the other end of the bed.

“I'd like to think they joined the circus,” Bucky says.

“The circus!”

“Sure,” Bucky says, warming up to the idea. “So they join the circus, and then they go back and fetch her little sisters, and all of them run away together and start a family.”

Steve flops back onto the bed, then rolls his head to the side so he can look at Bucky. “Do they stay in the circus after that, then?”

“Well, I guess so,” says Bucky. “It’d be fun I reckon, getting to work with all those lions and tigers and elephants.”

“Oh, my,” Steve says, on cue.

Bucky grins at him. “So he says to her, ‘It’s kind of an unconventional house, isn’t it,’ and she says, ‘Well it’s not a house at all—it’s a tent!’ But of course the two little girls love it, and the circus would be a great place for them, don’t you think? Nobody would judge ’em for messing something up, that’s what the people come for anyhow. Just like working as a singing dancing waiter, except that’s what the audience is expecting, you know. That’s what I think happens to ’em, after.”

Steve nods, thinking about it. Now that Bucky says it, he can definitely see the Tramp and the Gamine in the circus. “What about Big Bill?” he demands, anyway.

“He can come visit ’em,” Bucky says through a yawn. The low lamplight throws his jaw into sharp relief. “Maybe the circus’ll hire him as a strongman, how’s that?”

The image of Big Bill standing in the ring, lifting one of the Gamine’s two little sisters with each hand, is a satisfying one, Steve has to admit. “It’s a real nice ending, Buck,” he decides.

“Hell,” Bucky says. “The Little Tramp in the circus? I’d give an arm an’ a leg to see that.”

“You couldn’t work if you only had one arm and one leg,” Steve points out.

Bucky guffaws. “You give a leg, then. I can make do with only one arm, I’ll be like old Danny down at the docks.” Danny works in the shipyards hauling crates, and lost his left arm when he was shot in the shoulder during the war, and the gangrene set in before he could tie it up with a tourniquet.

“Well, then I wouldn’t be able to walk,” Steve says.

“I’ll carry you,” Bucky says promptly. “Wherever you need to go. Or I’d bring you everything, so you can just sit in bed and draw, and I’ll fetch your meals and that sort of stuff.”

“Well, I don’t _want_ you to do that,” says Steve.

“Geez, Steve,” Bucky says. “I want to take care of you, you don’t have to be so cut up about it.”

“And I don’t want you to have to look after me! I don’t want to be stuck in bed all day with one leg, I want to be able to walk around,” Steve says, defensive. He sits up, folding his arms, so he can scowl at Bucky. He hates when he can’t repay Bucky for all of Bucky’s endless favors and gifts and spontaneous surprises.

Bucky looks uncomfortable. He squirms a little when Steve glares at him. “I’ll give up a leg then,” he acquiesces. “And then _you’ll_ have to bring me things, so there.”

“I’ll make you one of those feeding machines,” Steve says.

“S’long as you don’t shove cake in my face,” says Bucky. “Or pour soup down my front.”

“You’d deserve it,” Steve mutters.

He expects Bucky to argue, but Bucky doesn't. “Probably,” he agrees. “Just don’t make it too hot, Steve, all right? I don’t want to get burned real bad.”

“You’re probably a robot anyway,” Steve says.

But Bucky doesn’t take the bait. “Sure I am,” he says, “but it’s like how you shouldn’t dunk the radio in the bathwater. It’ll keep tellin’ you stories, and baseball stats, but you gotta take care of things, get the dust off, make sure the dials are set right—”

Steve isn’t sure whether they’re talking about Bucky or the radio. It doesn’t really matter. “All right,” he relents. “I won’t pour soup on you.”

“Gee, thanks,” says Bucky.

But he doesn’t really look upset. He actually looks sort of disappointed, like he'd _enjoy_ Steve strapping him into a feeding machine and stuffing his lunch into his face.

“It wouldn’t kill you to hafta hold still for once,” Steve decides.

“Aw, I can hold still,” Bucky says. “I’m holding still right now, see? Look!”

“I’m lookin’!”

Bucky inhales a big gulp and puffs his cheeks out comically. He stays still though, even when Steve blows in his ear and pokes him in the ribs, which usually makes Bucky shout and try to kick him.

It’s impressive, Steve has to admit. "Stop it," he says. "You look stupid."

"Sorry," Bucky says, exhaling in one big huff. "Don't make the soup too hot."

"What is it with the soup?" Steve says. "It's like you _want_ me to pour soup on you."

Bucky goes still.

"What's wrong with you?" Steve demands.

"Listen," Bucky says, after a moment. "Don't get all mad at me, all right?"

"I ain't gonna get mad if you'd just tell me what's wrong!"

"Okay," says Bucky. "The truth is, it's not about the soup. I don't particularly care if you pour soup on me or not, or if you strap me into one of those feeding machines like the Little Tramp. Or if you want me to dress up in that fancy outfit from the café. The truth is, I don't like it when you're mad at me, because I do something you don't like. The problem is that I don't always know what makes you blow your top, so if you'd just tell me what to do, we wouldn't have to worry about it. And I know that you've been going to Greenwich on the weekends with Fred and those fellas, and I know why you've been going, and I don't give a damn about it, so there."

He sirs back with his arms crossed, looking stubborn and closed-off. Steve doesn't know what to say.

"You don't have to pour soup on me," Bucky says. "It's just an idea. I don't even know if you'd want to."

"I— of course I don't want to pour soup on you!"

"All right," says Bucky. "I figured you hadn't really thought about it before. But I'd be all right with anything you wanted, really. It doesn't matter."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve says.

"Sorry I'm not being very clear," Bucky says. "It's not easy to talk about. Well, you know I know about Greenwich."

"That's not—"

Bucky pulls a face. "I tried it, once," he says. "Well—I went down to the docks, you know, where the fairies go? I figured that'd be the place. But I didn't like it much. And I didn't really like it with dames either, so I reckoned I was just bent wrong. But I think it'd be something, if it was you. So if you don't want that, well, I'll leave you alone. But I figured you should know. Anyway, I can go if you want."

He stands up and walks all the way to the door before Steve's mouth catches up with his ears.

"Wait," he says.

Bucky stops, looking hopeful.

"You said, with—with men, it wasn't—"

"Well, I let a couple of them fuck me," Bucky says. He almost seems embarrassed, but Steve could understand that much. "I'd heard from some of the guys that it could feel good, but it didn't, I didn't like it. But there's other things to do, if you didn't want—you know. It doesn't have to be like that. You can just tell me what to do. I don't mind. Sorry."

"Quit apologizing," Steve says. "I haven't said anything yet."

"The thing is, I am sorry," says Bucky. "But I'll stop."

And he does. He goes still again, like before, except this time he's standing on the other side of the room, looking at Steve.

It's unnerving. "Get over here," Steve says, uneasy. "You're making me uncomfortable."

Bucky scrambles back over to the bed. He sits tentatively on the corner, waiting.

"I need some time to think about it," says Steve. "You surprised me. I don't like when you do that."

That gets a nod from Bucky. He mouths, sorry.

Steve frowns. "I don't like when you try to do things for me either," he says. "I hate when you treat me like I can't do anything on my own. Do you enjoy making me feel bad?"

Bucky shakes his head.

"I didn't think about it," Steve says. His heart feels like it's going to jackrabbit out of his chest. "I guess you know I'm a bit of a fairy. And I do enjoy it. Being fucked."

"Well, I don't know," Bucky says. "I mean, I think I'd like you to fuck me. But it doesn't have to be that."

"You said you didn't like it."

"Yeah, but it'd be different," says Bucky. "If it's you. I'd like it."

"You don't know that!" Steve slaps his hands on his knees, palms down.

Bucky furrows his brow. "Well, maybe I wouldn't enjoy it," he allows. "But I'd like it. Does that make sense?"

"No," Steve says.

"Sorry," Bucky says. "I can try to explain. It's more—"

"I didn't ask you to explain," Steve snaps.

Bucky shuts up. He sticks his hands between his knees.

"Okay," Steve says. "It's not that I don't want to hear what you're saying. You just surprised me. I mean," he hesitates. "I was scared. But I guess everyone probably already knows I'm bent."

"Not everyone," Bucky says loyally.

"Shut up," says Steve. Bucky closes his mouth again. "But at least I never wanted to dress up in ladies' things, like you said. Lots of people would say that's not even being a fairy, that's just being backwards."

Bucky wouldn't even be a fairy, anyway. Steve still doesn't know what to say about all this. He gets a one-shouldered shrug from Bucky, who points at his mouth. "Go on," Steve says, and Bucky grins at him, with teeth.

"Maybe it'd help if I told you what I think about, sometimes," Bucky says. "Like I said, I didn't enjoy it. So we wouldn't have to do that. But I was thinking, sometimes, it'd be nice if you would—dress me up, maybe like in the waitress' outfit, or something like that. Except then I just have to do things, and I can't say anything about it. Or you'd pretend I was a robot—"

"Hold on, I thought you already were a robot," Steve says.

Bucky grins even wider. "Sure, but we can pretend I'm only pretending. And of course robots can't feel things the way humans can, so you wouldn't have to worry about hurting me. You could do whatever you wanted to me, and I'd take it, like a mensch."

"I dunno if a robot can be a mensch."

"Maybe," Bucky says. "It's not the sort of thing I'd ask in yeshiva, you know."

Steve nods.

"Anyway, it'd be nice. Sometimes it feels like everyone's watching me, all the time," says Bucky. "And it's nice to know that people would be ignoring me. That doesn't mean forever. But it's nice."

Steve says, "Well, I guess you wouldn't want Shlomo to do this sort of thing, though."

"No," Bucky agrees. "And sometimes I picture it—so I'm a robot, or I'm a machine, and I'm just sitting in the corner, waiting for you to come turn me on and use me." He shrugs. "Maybe you'd stick me with a feather duster, or set a plate on me, it depends. Then whenever you need me, you'd come over and tell me what to do, and I'd go do it, and then you'd put me back and go on doing something else."

"I don't think you'd be a very good robot," Steve says, dubious.

Bucky doesn't seem bothered. "Whatever you think is all right," he says.

Steve squirms a little. "I'd stick you in one of those great big machines," he says. "With all the gears. And then I'd pull the lever and have everything stop, and I'd sit down to eat lunch, and leave you there."

He's definitely not imagining how Bucky perks up at that. "And you'd have to help me eat," Bucky says, then adds quickly, "if you decided I should eat."

"Sure, I'd have to feed you," Steve says.

"Right, on account of I couldn't move," says Bucky. "And you'd have to be careful when you turned the machine back on, or I'd be ripped in half."

"Maybe I'd want you to be ripped in half," Steve says, just to get a reaction.

But Bucky still doesn't seem bothered. "You could take me apart," he suggests. "In lots of little pieces. You could keep me in a drawer."

"I wouldn't really want to fuck a machine," Steve says. He hadn't noticed it before, but his legs are starting to ache from walking all the way back to the tenement after sitting in the cramped loge seats at the Rivoli for so long. His head hurts. "I don't know. Can we talk about it later? I'm tired."

Bucky jumps up like he's been electrocuted. "Sure," he says. "Sorry—"

"Quit apologizing!"

Bucky sits back down.

It's still rather unnerving, Steve thinks. He doesn't doubt that, in a different setting, Bucky will be his usual argumentative self. But seeing him like this is perturbing.

"All right," Steve says. As though right on cue, his stomach growls. "I need to scrape together something for dinner."

"I'll leave you alone then," says Bucky. "I'll see you at Esther's bat mitzvah though, right?"

"For crying out loud," Steve snaps, "I've already told you four times I'll be there, so knock it off!"

Bucky ducks his head, but he's grinning. "You'll be just fine, Everett True," he says. He dithers for a moment, looking as though he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. He closes the door behind him when he leaves, and Steve can hear his old scuffed shoes clomping down the stairs as he goes.

**Author's Note:**

> The real content warning is for objectification fantasies, i.e., Bucky wanting to be treated like an object, although not necessarily in a sexual way. There are also elements of dependence, such as Bucky wanting Steve to trap him inside a stopped machine so he can't move, or being stuck in a contraption that force-feeds someone. There is one brief discussion of amputation and the results thereof. There is no actual sex taking place, but one of the characters is 17 and the other 19. I didn't tag it "Underage" because, well, no actual sexual activity happens, but it is laterally discussed, so keep that in mind.


End file.
